Captain's Personal Log: Plato's Stepchildren
by Inneedofemotion
Summary: Not everything on Platonius was recorded in the Ship's Log. This is an extract of the captain's personal log from that star date.


Captain's Personal Log – Stardate 5784.3

For reasons that will become obvious, certain occurrences on Platonius were withheld from the official ship's log. I choose to put them here, to put them away; but not where, in Starfleet's eyes, they would have to take action. A First Office raping a Captain, or a Captain the First Officer, there's no other way they could choose to interpret it, and act on it, regardless of the circumstances. And to break up that command team the obvious result. But I get ahead of myself.

As relayed in the log, Nurse Chapel and Mister Spock were on one chaise lounge and Lt. Uhura and I on another. The respective couples, despite all efforts to the contrary, were forced by Parmen to kiss. How I hated Parmen at that moment. Using Spock and myself to, essentially, harm members of our crew that we both strive to watch over. Parmen had analyzed, determined our weak points, Dr McCoy's weak points, and struck those in an effort to get what he wanted. He had no thoughts for anyone but himself, save maybe for his wife, Philana. She… she seemed to get more enjoyment from the moment then Parmen did. And she became impatient. I heard her conversation with Parmen, and his subsequent move to his 'piece de resistance'. And here lies the point in time where the ship's log and mine diverge. It fit well within the scheme of the ship's log to skip over the piece relayed here. He was so dramatic; the tools of torture could have easily been what he was speaking of. It wasn't.

Spock and I were pulled from the ladies' lounges. The lounges they reclined on pushed against the back wall, out of sight for the next scene. Maybe it should have been predictable, after all – this was a group of people who idolized Plato. But Parmen's statement to his fellow Platonian's about Greek love was only heard faintly as a new chaise lounge made its way to the center of the room and I found myself being dragged to it, along with Spock. There was a part of me… in denial – that Parmen could be doing this. You could ask why. Parmen had already demonstrated that he had no qualms about the dignity of a starship captain. Was it even Parmen doing it all? Philana could be orchestrating part of this, she showed definite signs of… pleasure… while watching it. I delay.

They knew something about Vulcans. Spock and I were stood face to face, his hand raised in a familiar gesture. Will he ever make that gesture again? My hand was raised, two fingers, and caressed down his fingers; circled and caressed again. There was nothing I could do to stop, no control over my own muscles, try as I might. Yes, I knew what I was being made to do, and Parmen (or Philana) knew too, or they wouldn't have forced it. The initial gasp from Spock (he couldn't control that initial outburst) echoed in my senses, in my mind. He flushed, I could see the green darkening even beyond what it had when he was forced to kiss Nurse Chapel. I know I blushed, I could feel the heat on my cheeks. Circle.. caress… achingly slowly, and no recourse. I heard Bones gasp seconds after Spock did, he realized too what Parmen was doing, his plea with them to stop fell on deaf ears. Or listening ones, who rejoiced in the reaction. We were pushed into sitting positions, but our hands never stopped.. circle.. caress.. mine over his and his over mine. Circle.. caress.. Spock struggling to keep his breathing regular, refusing to look at me… but neither of us could keep our eyes off our hands,.. circle.. caress..

And suddenly his other hand, his right hand, raised itself into my circle of vision. I could see the strain of Spock's muscles and tendons as he tried to resist, as it was placed on my face. I felt him try to shift his fingers off the meld points, only to have them returned. He became the picture of futile resistance, every tendon standing out as he tried to remove his hand from my face. Even so, the whole time, his left hand and my right continued… circle .. caress. You see, don't you, why I say it couldn't be Parmen alone? Philana must have played some part in that orchestra. Could he keep so much moving at once, by himself? We were in a helpless position. The kironide in our systems had not been processed. I couldn't turn my face away, I couldn't move my hand away. If anything, I could feel that invisible hand pushing my face, keeping it in position with Spock's hand on it. I could feel the familiar tingle as the meld was started. And that same movement of our hands that touched… circle, .. caress.

Our faces were pushed even closer. The hands never stopped, his hand didn't move from the meld points, our faces nearly collided. Those torturous Platonians! On Spock's left hand, a Vulcan intimate kiss. On Spock's right hand: meld points to me. And for human satisfaction, a Terran intimate kiss. Two Platonians with their telekinetic powers against the two of us who had none. There was literally nothing we could do as our lips were pushed together, our heads angled, our mouths opened, our tongues pushed together. Our tongues echoing the movements of our hands… circle .. caress… slowly.. circle.. caress. The deepening of the mind meld, I could feel it. Spock's shame came through that meld, as he expressed to me mentally how deeply sorry he was. I struggled with Spock now to control my breathing. Damned if I would let those torturers enjoy any reaction from me! Uhura's trembling would not be seen physically from me, but the very effort of trying to resist did in fact create a fine tremor that I could FEEL in every limb and in my gut. Greater strength was applied here then with the ladies, as Spock could not even momentarily jerk away.

I heard Parmen laugh. I heard deep, jerky breathing in the audience wells. Our 'performance' was leading the rest of the men in the room (I hadn't realized before how few women were part of the Platonians) into the beginnings of an orgy. Parmen asked me how much it would undermine my authority, if I were the one on bottom. And he said, 'We shall see'. I could still hear Bones, pleading for them to stop, to not take it any further. And I felt sick in my gut, as I heard Spock gasp again, as I felt him mentally try to pull back on the meld so hard it nearly caused me to black out. Mentally, he apologized again, then as rapid as light he portrayed that if this were to go much further while we were melded, we would be bonded. In a split second my confusion, my question of what he meant was made clear. If he was melded to me, and we were forced to have sex, the meld would cause us to be bondmates. Incredible as it may seem, that Platonians could force that on us. He tried again to move his hands back, every ounce of his formidable mental and physical strength focused towards removing that meld. Every ounce of my own physical strength went towards trying to move my face away. And in the end, nothing changed. We were still melded, our tongues, our hands still.. circling.. slowly.. caressing.

Do I need to make clear here, what the things occurring would do to a normal, healthy male body. The reactions that come of their own volition?. Our hands, THEY, finally were allowed to stop their caressing, as Spock's hands were led… down. They were moved, caressing, up my arm, over my shoulder, down my chest, down my stomach, landing lightly on my thigh. (This had to be Philana, a woman's light touch. So, Parmen was still in control of our mouths which had not stopped, and the mind meld that had not decreased its intensity. And Spock's hand now, on my thigh, long fingers gently caressing towards my inner thigh and moving .. up. Fingertips under the bottom of my tunic, I could practically feel the tingle on both my scrotum and in my mind where the meld joined us. And all this physical stimulation created the male normal reaction, a hard-on. And Spock's fingers were now wrapped around it.

I can't neglect to mention what I was being made to do: When Spock's hand had left that Vulcan… kiss..and had moved on, my hands had moved up. Both of them were free, and one went to caress ear tips, and one began to work on tunic toggles. Flimsy fabric toggles, little enough work.

There we were, Captain and First Officer. Mouths locked together, minds locked together, breath hitching, bodies heated, his fingers wrapped around my penis, my hands now working to get under the remainder of his tunic. And nowhere near the end of what Parmen and Philana had planned. I no longer heard McCoy, he must have been rendered speechless. The breaths and moaning in the audience wells, that had increased.

His fingers now, they moved up and down. My hands, they had completed their work on his tunic, and had found Spock's own hard-on. Our tongues they still circled and caressed one another. Spock's body angled closer over mine. My body was leaned back further on the chaise. The meld, I could feel it, was digging deeper. Spock's own mind was radiating deep shame, guilt and regret, trying so hard to pull back and not succeeding. Our breaths, coming hard, hitched, in sync. Both of our bodies, struggling to pull apart, encompassed with fine tremors. His hand, moving off my penis, caressing down my thigh to my knee, shifting my thigh up – we both knew where this was going. Parmen, or Philana, or both – it no longer mattered. I could feel Spock retreating in his mind, unable to accept the harm he felt he was going to do to me. I mentally blanketed everything I could feel of him with forgiveness, with recognition that it was out of his control and not his fault. And as much as I thought I had hated Parmen before, it paled in comparison.

Spock was on top of me, his hand on my bent leg, holding it in place. His eyes were closed, he refused to look at me, even as I searched and probed his face trying to get him to. His hand, nearly clawed from the effort of trying to remove it from my face, was firmly placed and pressed on meld points. My hands, his hand, Parmen and Philana had all 3 between us, guiding him into me. His body pressed, with no lubrication but pre-cum, him into me. The initial pressure was excruciating, I could not scream out and satisfy Parmen and Philana and the other Platonians any further then we already had. I could not scream out and bring McCoy to the point that he gave in for fear of us. My body involuntarily arched backwards in protest, the pain that needed to have an outlet was screamed mentally out. The effect on Spock was devastating, I could tell through our meld. He retreated further mentally, even as his body retreated from mine, to be pounded in again. I grunted through gritted teeth, as I tried not to scream out at all this time, physically or mentally. I felt my arms being pulled around Spock, in a mockery of a lover's attempt to pull him closer – I imitated the moved mentally, I wrapped my arms around any part of Spock I could reach before he mentally retreated. Even as his body pounded into mine, I pushed the physical anguish away and blanketed him with forgiveness and my friendship. Parmen was wrong, this was not going to take away my feeling of authority. Worrying about Spock gave me back/helped me retain my authority.

But as the pounding continued, as I felt him come closer to his peak, as his hand on my shaft quickened and I felt myself reach my own peak – I felt a change in that mental meld. It felt as if filaments were being wrapped around it, sheathing it. I felt Spock fighting every one of them. One last pound, one last jerk, Spock groaned, and yes, I moaned. And that mental meld, it was now metal cord sheathed in metal. The orgasm Spock had completed, I had completed, had completed the bond as he had warned. We lay there, breathless, Spock filled with shame, I was filled with shock. The room was not silent. I heard Bones cursing quietly. The ladies, somehow I had forgotten them, I could hear them crying on their lounges. The audience wells, they were filled with the sounds of men hitting their peaks. I glared at Parmen, he was smirking. But Philana, she was still biting her lip, on the edge of her seat, SHE … wasn't done.

We were sat up on the lounge, momentarily. It was an interim, a shift. Before our breath was even caught, Spock was being pushed backwards on the lounge. I mentally asked him, quickly, 'Are you ok?' 'Can this be broken?' 'Is it permanent?'. His answer, nearly as quickly (the pause enough to indicate the effect this had on him so far), 'I am well, I am sorry, only if it is not reinforced, it may be broken with some danger.' I understood, I thought, but had 1 final clarification to make. 'If it isn't reinforced? Clarify.' A mental sigh (Vulcans don't sigh!), ' Another consummation, it will be done.' My hands, of (whose?) volition, removed the rest of Spock's tunic, and pulled off the remainder of mine. I kneeled over my first officer, devoid of clothing and divesting him of his. A caress: my right hand over his left hand. A caress: my left hand over an ear tip. A caress: my right hand being led to meld points, what? Spock shook his head, trying to shake it off, mouthing, moaning, whispering 'No!'. His left hand being lifted placed on meld points, I didn't understand yet. Spock tremoring, trembling, quaking, struggling to move his hand, still shaking his head and in a whispering yell, 'No!'. His right hand being lifted and placed on mirroring meld points. My left hand, skimming down the side of his face, down his chest, stopping to fondle a nipple (Philana!) and the other, skimming down his stomach, avoiding altogether his genitals, moving down his thigh, mirroring the position he was forced to put me in, 1 leg bent up ready to receive me. But we were limp.

Phantom hands caressed me, fondled me till I was hard. My head was pushed down to Spock's, our lips pressed harshly together. Whoever was doing the pushing now didn't even care for … intimacy?... but only on getting me to do to Spock what he had been made to do to me. Their point, did they even have one? I glanced over at Parmen (he looked bored), at Philana (she looked excited) and at McCoy (he looked miserable, ready to break). I shook my head at him, even as I felt that invisible hand push me down on Spock. Multiple hands on me, (I looked, they weren't Spock's or mine, so Platonians), handled me, and pushed me in. Spock, amazingly, no energy or strength was left in him, he quietly cried out and jerked his head on my entry. But his hands were not allowed to move, mine was kept in place. Those hands, they grabbed my hips, and they pushed me in, pulled me out, and repeated. My one free hand, was wrapped around Spock, and pulled in time to my entry. And again, we were moved towards our peak together. Again, I felt the filaments wrapping around the metal cord of that mental bond. And I understood, this, .. this would reinforce the bond beyond removal. And I believe the Platonians knew that. As I was pounded in, as I was made to jerk him off, I understood. We would live with this bond, or one of us would die in the removal of it, and possibly kill the other. As I came, as Spock's essence was jerked out of him, I felt – Spock. I looked over again at the Platonians. Parmen still looked bored, Philana now smirked, McCoy weeped. I think he knew what they had done. I, still, shook my head, reinforcing my order to him – don't give in. I looked back at Spock, who would not look at me. I was free to move now, and I touched his shoulder, to get his attention. I touched the bond, for the same reason. And I attempted, again, to let him know not to feel shame, or guilt – it wasn't his fault. Somehow, we would work around this. We sat up, we redressed. We were stood up, the lounge was moved out of the room – and the table with the whip and the firepot was moved in.

The record from here, you already know, for this is where the ship's log continues.

Spock and I. We, I hope, will work this out. It's still fresh. I can feel him, even from here. He is deep in meditation, he is still shrouded in guilt and shame. I can reach out, touch this bond, try to feel to him not to feel this guilt. I can hear his thoughts, he can hear mine. We will learn to shield from one another. I have already told him he will not kill himself trying to remove it, and that we will continue to be a command team. I will it, and it will be.

Captain's personal log, locked on voice command Kirk, James T.


End file.
